


Embraceable You

by Lokisgame



Series: To have and to hold [28]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Heavy Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 13:21:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9493319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisgame/pseuds/Lokisgame
Summary: There's something basic, almost primal about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by conversation with Mldrgrl about her "Last Dance" fic from her MSR drabbles series

There's something basic, almost primal about it.  
When he's half dead, unconscious or desperate, she touches him and he has a reason to fight back.  
It's not the sight of her, her voice or her presence. Not the air of authority of a doctor or concern of a friend.  
It's her touch that fires his neurons and fuels his heart to keep beating in his chest. It's a call to come back, a reminder he's needed. She could raise him from the dead with one touch of her hand. Death is a cold and empty place.

 

He came back from the bathroom and found her washing dishes. Frank crooned in the distance how she was a part of him. No words spoken or sung have ever been truer. He stoped close behind her and watched her, head bent, hair cut shorter than usual showing top of her back framed by a navy blue sweater. The memory of their first night and first case washed over him, images he'll carry with him as long as his own head was attached to his neck.  
He put his hands on her shoulders but she shrugged him off and it made him take a step back. Rejection stung him like a bee.

"Am I making you uncomfortable? Because I'm starting to think I'm imposing." His words made her spin around to face him.  
He dropped his gaze to the floor, pushing hands deep inside his pockets. His deepest fears jangled like 12 shiny quarters. "I feel like you only let me touch you in bed, but for me it's more than sex. You make me feel good" his voice was barely a whisper "and I want to show it"

She watched as each word chipped off a piece of his spirit. He was folding in on himself, as if the memory of loneliness was pulling at him from the inside, a black hole of a wound. 

"Mulder" she spoke softly putting her hand on his arm, he tensed but didn't move away. She tried to break his fall with her tone, but broke down his walls instead. 

Mulder wasn't anywhere near as macho as most men, but even for him this was primal Id fear. His inner child stirred restlessly in it's sleep. He knew he shouldn't be or feel this needy. He wanted to be above it, he tried to reason it away, but the kid never got enough love when he needed it, and now when he finally thought he would have some control, love someone who loved him back, he tried his best to feed the flame, to not let it fade away in neglect.

He kept talking and cold sweat washed over her. He really thought she had a sliver of ice in her heart somewhere.

"I never claimed to have your restraint, it's a conscious effort for me to keep my hands to myself. At work I can do it, no problem, but I know the need is there, I remind myself that it's not the time or place." His voice became a bit desperate running with all the confession he thought he would never need to make. "But we're not at work, it's just us" he took a deep breath, finally looking into her eyes, his final words cutting her open "I don't want to keep guessing if you're genuinely happy or if you're just indulging me again." 

She was struck silent by his words, she never wanted to do that to him, she never knew she could make him feel like that.  
Was it because she came from a large family, that she cherished her space so much? Each moment of peace and quiet in a house filled with 5 to 6 people all the time, was a treasure for her contemplative nature.  
Where Mulder had too little affection in his youth, being a boy and an older brother, and then with his family falling apart altogether; she was almost smothered with affection, rules and expectations from five people who wanted her to be and act a certain way. She rebelled against it of course, and when she finally got free she stayed free for years. She loved her family, for all their flaws, but couldn't help feeling crowded sometimes.  
She loved and needed her space. But she needed Mulder more, she never thought he wouldn't see it in her. She didn't care about things like flowers or jewelry. Occasional bar of chocolate or tub of ice cream was all she wanted and needed because she had him. They gave each other epic sex, on that they agreed, and it was one of few things, apart from work, they both enjoyed openly and took part in with equal enthusiasm and mutual benefit.  
She never though Mulder would harm her, in any way, even when he pointed a gun at her. She trusted him with her life, her body, soul and everything else she might ever have. 

For Mulder it wasn't about sex, or his family or hers. It was about the connection between them. No words could describe it, he'd waste away his life trying to name each and every thing he loved about her. Words were too far away. Sex was too consuming, exhausting in the best way. Sex had a purpose, a start and an end. The contained nature of the act made it feel like a celebration of the two of them, but he didn't want it to be a special event. The intimacy for him was somewhere else completely.  
With mutual consent, you could have a one night stand with a stranger, fuck, come and go on your separate ways. You didn't kiss the sales girl on the cheek just because she made great coffee. That's what sets apart strangers from people you care about, and he wanted it. The honesty and accaptence and yes, emotional connection that only touch could convey. His body ached from hiding it, he needed a failsafe or he'd burst into flames. 

"Mulder" she sighed, taking his hands in hers and stepping into his space, linking them behind her back. "It's never like that, you're not a charity case, where did you get an idea like that from anyway?" She linked her arms around his neck, one hand lingering for a second on his cheek "did you hurt your head again?"  
"Don't joke about this" he chuckled mirthlessly but pulled her closer.  
"I have to, otherwise we'll both end up crying and who will put us back together again?"  
She had her ear pressed against his chest and could swear she heard his heart break "Am I too clingy for your taste?"  
"No, never" her hands slipped down and she wrapped them around his waist, hugging him and holding fast.  
Frank whispered to her, _embrace him, you sweet embraceable you_ so she pushed him slightly to break the standstill and silence. She held him close and hoped he'll read her, but his face was still full of doubt and only when she caught his eye and smiled he started to relax.  
"I didn't do it on purpose, if that explains anything" There was really no reason for him to feel like this.  
"Why did you let me talk then" he looked mortified for a moment before he ducked his head and rested it on her shoulder giving in, letting go of the sense of rejection and holding on to her warm and inviting waist "now I'm really the needy clingy boyfriend"  
They swayed with the music, Frank in full mushy swing around them. She freed her arms and running them purposefully over his chest embraced his shoulders, holding him protectively. Never mind he was twice her size and she was barefoot and they were in her safe and warm kitchen. The nearness of him calmed her as well.  
"This is new for both of us and I appreciate the honesty" she said and a laugh ran through him as he hid his face deeper in the crook of her neck. Before he could start to worry about what she might say next, she pressed her lips to his skin. "I'm sorry I hurt you"  
"So you're okay with this?" He ran his hands over her back, slowly, to show her what he meant.  
"More than okay" she turned her head and their lips met, starting a slow dance of their own. 

 

On lazy nights, after they made love numerous times, he liked to take his time to touch her. To feel her, every inch of her, from her toes to the tip of her nose, and then make love to her, time and time again.

**Author's Note:**

> I love Sinatra like Mulder loves Elvis.


End file.
